


hundred-twenty proof

by PaxDuane



Series: Unrelated Star Wars Drabbles [5]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Bossk, Biting, Breeding Kink, Clothed Sex, Enemies and Lovers, Floor Sex, Hate Sex, Jaster Mereel Lives, M/M, Obsession, Pheromones, Riding, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Wall Sex, implied past-Jaster Mereel/Tor Vizsla, kind of, part Togruta Jango Fett, third sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29545218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxDuane/pseuds/PaxDuane
Summary: After Jaster Mereel survives the betrayal at Korda-6, the True Mandalorians and Death Watch are driven into a cold war with the New Mandalorian Duchy. Despite mutual animosity, the two factions pass each other information about Duchy aggression.Eighteen-year-oldberoyaandad be Mand'alorJango Fett makes extra money walking cantinas, like any other early career bounty hunter.When Death Watch 'alor Tor Vizsla needs to send a new piece of information, he takes the excuse to see if his former-lover-turned-former-brother's ad tastes as good as he's been fantasizing about.
Relationships: Jango Fett/Tor Vizlsa
Series: Unrelated Star Wars Drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925734
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	hundred-twenty proof

**Author's Note:**

> aslfj The first thing I write for this pairing is technically consensual??? Whaaaat? no but really this got written before the inevitable DDDNE of this pairing. What.
> 
> Anyways. What You Need To Know!
> 
> Jaster's alive, this is normal work for a bounty hunter to be doing when between jobs early in their career, it's a pretty good relationship between bounty hunters who Walk and sex workers who strictly Walk, Jaster and Tor were once A Thing, Tor's buir adopted Jaster to signal he wanted him to be Mand'alor next, legally Jaster and Tor did the Family Divorce thing before Jango was adopted into the Mereel clan but the Kalevalans don't recognize anything besides divorces between couples so they _are_ somewhat considered related to the Duchy which means incredibly sarcastic familial titles, and Yes Tor Is A Creep.

Jango lets the cantina pimp wave him over from where he’s been flirting the credits out of a couple Twi’lek men.

“Mando for you,” the man grunts, nodding to one of the shadowy booths.

“Beroya?” he asks.

“Not one I’ve worked with. Asked for you special, though.”

Jango grimaces—it means whoever they are, they know him. Nine out of ten days, that’s a bad thing, but none of his enemies would be stupid enough to risk an assassination that could lead the Haat Mando’ade back to them. Showing up in beskar’gam _here_ would certainly do it.

Still, he nods and makes his way to the booth, stopping at the opening and raising his eyebrows.

The Mando’ad has taken off both buy’ce and ven’cabur off, which means he knows what he’s in the cantina for. He’s downing a shot, but Jango still recognizes him.

“You look good like this,” the older man grunts, reaching out to reel Jango into the booth.

“What do you want, Vizsla.” Jango’s breath catches as two fingers enter him—testing if he’s already been worked open. Still, there’s no way he’d show up just for this. Tor Vizsla may always look at him like he wants to eat him, but he’s not going to drop credits on that when he can just make it far too clear that his soldiers have capture-only orders for him.

“What, I can’t come by to get a taste?” he asks, turning Jango around and dragging him to his lap.

“You’ve made it pretty clear you don’t want just a taste,” Jango says, rolling his eyes.

Tor hums. He’s hard and heavy against the small of Jango’s back. “True enough.” Then, he pushes Jango up, gets his cockhead inside of him, and then drags him back to a sitting position.

Jango whines, eyes gone wide. He worked himself open at the start of his shift, because quite a few customers ask for just this, but it’s been a while since he last sat on a cock, and his last client wasn’t as big as Tor is.

“Such a pretty noise,” Tor chuckles into the back of his neck. His hands situate between Jango’s thighs, rubbing at the bundles of nerves along the scent glands there.

He braces himself against the table—he’s going to need it. He takes a few deep breaths, letting himself get used to the stretch of his cloaca, no matter that he’s getting a good dose of his own building pheromones that only know he’s got someone who knows just how to kark him right. He wants to ask, again, what Tor’s up to, but he doesn’t manage the control before his thoughts are interrupted.

"Do you have friends here?" Tor asks, barely a whisper right under his ear.

"Ye-es," Jango mumbles, hating how he's melting into his touch.

"Any of them smell pheromones?"

He knows Tor doesn't, doesn't want to think about how the man is so familiar with how the glands on the inner thigh work, but his mind also flashes to Bossk. The Trandoshan is hustling pool, today, not walking, but he's still in the same room.

"Hm? Yes or no, _vod'ad_."

"Yes," he grits out as one of Tor's hands slides up from his thigh to his belly, carelessly caressing his cock on the way up.

"Mm, so they know you're getting taken care of." Tor rolls his hips, more firmly seating Jango on his cock while the cold beskar burns his thighs. "Ka'ra, you're tight. Makes me wonder, with how much smaller you were two years ago..."

Jango's breath hitches and his head lolls back as his pheromones build to a haze in the little booth.

"Maybe you'd still have been too small to knock up, then," Tor muses, kissing his neck. "That would have been such a pretty sight, though."

"Kark off," Jango mutters, only to have to muffle a whine at the sharp thrust up Tor manages.

"So tiny, still, but with plenty of bite." To punctuate his statement, he digs his teeth against the scent gland on the side of Jango's neck he's pressed into.

“Don’t,” Jango manages, breathing heavily.

Tor licks the bite and Jango shivers. “How about we take this to a room, kitten? Hmm?”

Jango huffs pushes himself away from where he was near plastered to Tor’s beskar’gam, breath hitching at the change of angle as he grabs the datapad for the table. He picks a room, one near the back, and adds a small note that someone needs to come get him in an hour if he isn’t back out.

Tor lifts him off of his cock and tucks himself away, then lets Jango lead the way to the room he chose. Once they’re inside, the door shut behind them, Tor strips him out of the nightshirt-esque gown the cantina pimp had put him in for this shift, presses him up against the door, and shoves himself back into Jango’s cloaca.

Jango's nails scramble on the painted beskar until he gets his arms around Tor’s neck, moaning as the older man kisses his neck again and slams into him.

“Does your buir know you walk without beskar?” Tor asks conversationally as he sets a punishing pace going in and out of Jango.

Jango pants, leaning back against the wood of the door. “Jus’... Jus’ here,” he slurs as the pheromones begin to build in the room, faster than they had in the booth.

“Mesh’la, cyar’ika,” Tor murmurs. “Such a good beroya and a good _whore_. Ka’ra knows I’d rather have you in my bed, never to leave my rooms like you should have been, but I’ll take this.” He bites, again, as Jango slides further into the pheromone haze. “Mm, and it would be such a shame to get you off the field, now. I love the chance I might just get to take you.”

Jango manages a snarl but not much more as Tor karks into him.

“Such a shame to get you off the field, but so nice to know I put an ik’aad in you.”

Jango whines, wrapping his legs firmly around Tor’s waist.

“Oh, you’d look so good, round with my child. You’d probably rip my throat out with your teeth if I came too close, but oh, the look of you.” One of his hands hauls Jango further up against the door and digs into his ass while the other braces them both more firmly against the door. “Just need to see it, cyar’ika. My spend dripping down your thighs, then in a few months you stuck at home with my child in your belly. Ka’ra, kark you in the courtyard while we burn the compound, let ner verde get a good look at you and how good you are for me.”

“Wouldn’t get that far,” Jango manages to breathe, head back as Tor decorates his throat with bites.

“No?” Tor gives him a particularly harsh thrust. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t let me get to the point of burning it down around you. But you’d let me kark you in front of my soldiers, wouldn’t you, cyare?”

“If y’paid well enough,” he slurs, groaning as Tor wraps a forearm around his lower back and pulls back from the door, forcing his back into a bow and his arms to slip and catch on the cloth around the man’s biceps.

Tor smirks, jostling him as he thrusts slower and harder. “Would probably give you half a dozen, at least, who’d give good money just to see you in shimmersilk and heels, let alone get you out of them.”

Jango digs his heel pointedly between the plates of Tor’s beskar’gam, smirking himself when the older man winces.

“Claws, kitten,” Tor snarls, slamming into him and making him gasp. “I am going to _ruin_ you.”

“Oh?” Jango drawls, clawing cognizance out of the haze of pheromones by will of spite. “Think you’ve got it in you, ruus'ad?”

Tor shoves him back into the door, flashing teeth and digging them into Jango’s neck as he moans, slipping back into the haze for a moment.

The moment the teeth leave his neck, though, he bucks his hips and overbalances them, barely getting his legs off of Tor’s waist before the man’s back hits the floor. He grins and rolls his hips, situating himself.

Tor’s fingers dig into his hips. “Did I piss you off?” he coos, all false sympathy, dragging his hands down to Jango’s knees and tugging.

Jango raises an eyebrow. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.” He rolls his hips again, then presses his hands against Tor’s shar’tas and leverages himself up to drop again.

“That the game you want to play?” Tor gets his feet braced against the floor and shoves up.

Jango yelps, pitching forward slightly before digging his fingers along the edges of the shar’tas that aren’t a seam and grinding back.

“Mesh'la,” Tor says, one hand leaving Jango’s legs to reach up and tangle in his hair. “I’d give you whatever you wanted, if you just came willingly.”

Jango whines as he tugs, thighs trembling as he grinds into the small thrusts of Tor’s hips. “Not gonna.”

“Oh, I know that, at this point.” Tor surges up, kissing his jaw. “I’ll make do.”

Jango lets Tor pull his head back, the pheromones taking the chance to cloud his thoughts a little more.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Tor murmurs against his ear. “I’m going to put you on that bed and kark you until you cry.”

He does a little more than that, karking him, then fingering him and feeding him spend, then karking his mouth with his fingers, then eating him out before he leaves him practically boneless on the bed. There’s a brief moment, in the haze, where he went to the door and paid out for the rest of Jango’s night.

“Consider it a late adoption day present,” he kisses into Jango’s neck. Then he gets his beskar’gam all on and straightened up, drops a holodrive on the bedside table. “Give your buir my best.”

Jango flips him off as he leaves, much to his amusement.

**Author's Note:**

> Language Notes!  
> beroya -- bounty hunter/professional hunter  
> beskar'gam -- beskar skin/armor  
> buy'ce -- helmet  
> ven'cabur -- groin plate/future protector  
> vod'ad -- nephew/niece/nibling (used sarcastically, in this case, because they're only related because of Kalevalan law)  
> mesh'la -- beautiful  
> cyar'ika -- sweetheart, diminutive of -->  
> cyare -- beloved  
> Ka'ra -- stars, council of dead Mand'alore  
> ik'aad -- baby  
> ruus'ad -- elder (insulting)  
> shar'tas -- bottom third of the traditional chest plate


End file.
